


show the world the thunder

by littlesnowpea



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Kid!Kylo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 09:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6748981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesnowpea/pseuds/littlesnowpea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the things Han expected to run into today—wolves, opposing gangs, the fucking plague— a tiny, scrawny kid with wide eyes in the middle of a burned out campsite was not one of them. </p><p>He stares at the kid.</p><p>The kid stares back.</p><p>His lower lip begins to tremble. </p><p>Fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	show the world the thunder

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "She's My Winona" by Fall Out Boy.
> 
> No content warnings for this fic, what a lovely surprise!
> 
> Please enjoy!

When Han woke up that morning, his first thought was that he’d been too lucky lately. For the third night in a row, he’d found an abandoned building to sleep in. For the fifth day in a row, he’d found actual canned food. 

It was time for something to go wrong, because something always tended to go wrong. If it wasn’t three straight days without clean water, it was half-sleeping outside, always tense, waiting to be found by the kind of people that specialize in what Han privately calls a never-ending doomsday—raiders. 

Yet, of all the things Han expected to run into today—wolves, opposing gangs, the fucking plague— a tiny, scrawny kid with wide eyes in the middle of a burned out campsite was not one of them. 

He stares at the kid.

The kid stares back.

His lower lip begins to tremble. 

_Fuck._

“Okay,” Han breathes to himself, before approaching the kid—slowly, like he’s a wild animal. For all Han knows, he could be bait, set by some random group looking to rob people. But what’s he going to do, leave the kid? What if he’s really alone?

“Hi,” Han tries, pasting what he hopes is a reassuring smile on his face and holding up his hands placatingly. “What’s your name?”

The kid locks his big eyes on Han and his lip trembles harder. 

“Kylo,” he finally answers, voice wavering—which is a lie, Han assumes. Based on the disgustingly dirty sweatshirt the kid is wearing, his name is _Ben Kenobi_. But maybe the kid can’t read yet. 

“Your shirt says ‘Ben’,” Han tells him softly, and the kid sniffles. “Ben Kenobi. That’s your name, right?”

“My name’s Kylo!” the kid wails, and Han winces as the sound echoes off the surrounding cliffs. 

“Alright, okay!” Han says quickly, cutting in before the kid’s tears become genuine. “Why are you all alone, Kylo?”

Kylo swipes the sleeve of his sweatshirt—rolled up about eight times—across his face and sniffs again. 

“I was with my Mommy and everyone and _then,”_ Kylo takes a shuddering breath. “That bad man came like before and took me a-away, and then we came here and now I don’t know where M-mommy _is!”_

“Fuck,” Han sighs, and Kylo narrows his eyes. 

“You said a swear,” he points out solemnly, and Han stares at him. “Mommy doesn’t like it when Poe swears. She makes him sleep the farthest from the fire if he does.”

Han has no idea who Poe is. 

Han has no idea why he’s contemplating snatching this child up and returning him to Mommy.

 _Get it together, Solo,_ he thinks to himself, and sighs. 

“Can you walk, Kylo?” is what Han finds himself asking next, and he resists the urge to just slap himself right then and there. No. No people, Solo! People are baggage. 

Kylo nods. 

“Okay,” Han sighs. “Listen, kid, you’re gonna come with me, alright? I’ll get you home to your mom.”

“Okay,” Kylo says, agreeable. He stands up and brushes off his mud-stained jeans. He looks up at Han with wide eyes and holds out a hand expectantly. 

Han stares before hesitantly taking Kylo’s small hand. The kid sets off walking immediately, swinging their hands between them, and Han is gaping into the still dawn air. 

“We’d better get going before the bad man comes back to see if I’m dead yet,” Kylo says, frank and matter-of-fact, and Han _reels._

Sure, he knew there were awful fucking people roaming the Earth since the world went to shit, but hearing death come from the mouth of a little kid is still a special kind of evil, and not one Han wants reminding about. 

“To see if you’re _what?”_ Han manages to choke out, and Kylo cocks his head and looks up at him. 

“Dead,” he answers, looking quizzical. “The bad man told me he was gonna kill me, and he’d see if the fire killed me tomorrow. It’s tomorrow, right?”

Han nods, even though he’s not sure if it _is_ tomorrow by the kid’s standards. His mind is reeling. He feels a little thrown for a loop. 

He’s spent so long in this world on his own, he forgot there were people capable of killing, much less killing a _child._

Kylo’s sweatshirt sleeve rides up and Han feels nausea bubble up in his stomach as he takes in bright red ligature marks on the kid’s skin. The soot from what had to be the flames that the kid fucking _sat in_ , what the _fuck_ , are rubbing into the angry marks, but the kid is unflinching. 

“What happened to your wrist?” Han demands, though he knows full well what must have happened. Kylo frowns down at his wrist before craning his head to look back up at Han. 

“The bad man tied me up,” Kylo shrugs. “And then he put fire around me and then he left. I fell asleep for a little bit, and when I woke up, you were there!”

Han is definitely going to be sick. 

“Holy fucking shit,” he manages, and Kylo gasps. 

“ _Two_ swears!" he says earnestly, and Han grits his teeth. 

“Sorry,” he tells Kylo, who swings their joined hands again. Han feels clumsy, uncoordinated, wrong. What is he _doing?_

“It’s ok,” Kylo says brightly. “Poe never says sorry, Mommy gets so mad. Hey, do you know my Mommy? I’m not ‘upposed to talk to strangers, but you’re not a bad man, too. Right?”

He looks up at Han, a little uncertain, and Han can relate. He quickly puts on what he hopes is a reassuring smile, and it seems to work, because Kylo looks ahead again, satisfied. 

“I don’t know your Mommy,” Han says, still surprised the word ‘Mommy’ is even leaving his mouth. "But I promise I will do my best to find her. And I’m not a— a bad man.”

He leaves it at that. The kid won't understand what _reformed criminal_ even means, let alone how to explain what life used to be like to a kid that looks like he wasn’t even born until the war. Besides. That was his old life. Before everything went to hell. Before now. 

“Okay,” the kid says cheerfully—so cheerful, even for a kid that went through whatever awful torturous things he just went through, even for a kid that has literal ligature marks on his tiny wrists—he’s cheerful. 

Han’s not sure what the fuck he’s even doing.

—

“Woods,” Kylo says, when Han asks. “Mommy and everyone and me, we live in the woods.”

Well, that’s just fantastic. There are three major forests all within a few days walk of here. Han used to have a car, a beat up racer he called the Falcon, but gas is so hard to come by and sleeping in it made him a sitting duck for scavengers, scavengers with guns, that he just walks everywhere now. 

Fuck, he misses the Falcon.

They’ve been walking all day, as far as they can get from where Han found Kylo, and once again he’s thrown for a loop. God knows what forest the kid came from, if it was an actual forest and not just a thick patch of trees. Han’s low on food, which means he needs to risk a supply run, something he’s never done with a _kid._

“How old are you?” he asks, an afterthought. 

Kylo thinks.

“Seven,” he answers finally. “Almost eight. What day is it? My birthday is March 5th.”

“I don’t know, kid,” Han sighs. “Your family keep an old calendar?”

“A moon calendar,” the kid informs Han. “Mommy made it. Rey helped.”

Great, another name drop. Who the hell is Rey?

“Are you a scavenger?”

Question fifty-two. Not that Han is paying attention or counting or anything. That would be weird.

“How do you know that word?” Han demands, instead of answering that yes, basically he is. “You’re five.”

“I’m _seven,”_ Kylo corrects emphatically. “I’m growned up.”

“First of all,” Han says, ticking off the numbers on his fingers. “You’re nowhere near grown up. Second of all, five and seven are the same thing. Third of all—”

Kylo’s fixing wide brown eyes on him, lower lip trembling, and Han narrows his eyes. 

_“Third_ of all,” he continues. “You’re faking. Knock it off.”

Kylo pouts.

“You’re kind of a jerk,” he says softly, and rests his chin on the top of Han’s head. “That’s what Mommy calls Grandpa Anakin sometimes. Grandma Padme calls him that, too.”

“Mommy’s not here,” Han says, without thinking. He immediately winces. Kylo lets out a shaky sigh. 

“I know,” he says, and Han apologizes mentally. 

“How long have we been walking?” Kylo asks. Han rolls his eyes. Fifty three. 

_“I’ve_ been walking for about three hours,” Han answers, emphasizing the first word. “You walked for maybe thirty minutes before you got on my back.”

“You offered,” Kylo points out, and Han can feel him shrug. Where the kid learned that, Han doesn’t know. Not his fault, that’s for damn sure. “What’s _that?”_

Han squints, spotting the shapes Kylo meant immediately. They’re unclear, kicking up dust as they move. 

Han frowns. Whatever—whoever—the shapes are, they’re moving awfully fast. Towards them. 

Han glances around, taking in the two abandoned buildings beside them. One has roof access, or at least looks like it does. It’s half burned out, garbage, but—

“The garbage will do,” Han mutters. “Hang on, kid.”

“Kylo!” Kylo whines, but complies as Han takes off running towards the building. 

Han ducks inside the sagging doorframe, grip tightening almost unconsciously on Kylo’s shins. Kylo kicks his leg out unhappily and Han rolls his eyes, quickly picking over debris on the staircase and praying they stay stable.

Tires squeal on the cracked road they’d just run from, and Han winces, abandoning his careful trek and climbing as fast as he possibly can. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters under his breath, and thankfully Kylo either doesn’t hear or chooses not to comment. Han is out of practice with the “good role model” stuff. 

Han can hear shouting and a second car stop outside the building, and he sucks in a quick breath as the door three floors down is kicked open. 

_“Fuck,”_ he breathes, and Kylo buries his face into Han’s hair. 

“Where are they?” one voice demands. 

“Come back here, now!” a second joins in. “We know you’re alone, you can’t run anywhere!”

“We promise we won’t hurt you,” the first voice calls, before snickering. 

“Yeah, right,” Han whispers, taking the stairs two at a time. He knows who these people are. Raiders. They’ll rob Han of whatever he has and then shoot him dead. Kylo too. None of the raiders Han’s had the misfortune to meet have had a shred of decency in them. 

“Where are we gonna go?” Kylo whispers, fingers digging into Han’s shoulders. Han doesn’t answer—mostly because he has no idea himself. 

Right now, the roof is his best bet. He hopes. 

Except—shit. 

Han careens to a stop as the stairs abruptly drop off, crumbling down into a dark pit of nothingness. Great. Fantastic. 

Shouts echo up the stairs.

“Down it is,” Han mutters, and Kylo gasps.

“Down _there?”_ he demands, voice somehow shrill despite his hushed tone. “You don’t _look_ like a crazy person!”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Han mutters. “Welcome to the real world, kiddo. Keep hanging on.”

“We are going to _die,”_ Kylo moans, but he hangs on almost painfully tight as Han eases his way down the steep, crumbling wall. 

The shouts abruptly quiet, blocked by the crumbling walls of the hollowed-out staircase, and Han retreats further, pressing against one of the walls until he is pressed into the corner.

He prays they will miss him if they shine light down here. 

Kylo digs his tiny fingers into Han’s shoulder, and Han lets him. He prays to _God_ the kid doesn’t scream easy. Han somewhat doubts he screams at all. 

“No, fuck, the staircase is a mess, they didn’t go beyond here,” a voice cuts through their silent darkness with no warning. 

“What about down there?” a second voice asks, and a flashlight beam lands three inches from Han’s shoe. It darts around the darkness and narrowly misses Kylo’s dark hair before it clicks off, a prayer answered. 

“Nothing,” the first voice answers. “Is there a back exit they took?”

“Shit!” a third voice shouts above the other two. “Shit! Boss sees two people in the other direction! We gotta move, let’s go!” 

Han exhales slowly and recites a prayer he used to use every day as the shouts recede and the car outside starts up again. 

“How are we gonna get back up?” Kylo whispers, and Han sighs. 

“Carefully,” he answers, and Kylo hangs on. 

—

Han sticks to off-paths and skirting around buildings instead of keeping a direct path down the middle of the open road. It’s probably luck that saved them before, and luck almost certainly never repeats itself. 

Han doesn’t want to die just yet. 

Kylo’s walking now, one hand wound in Han’s jacket, the other touching literally everything they pass. He drags his hand against rickety fences, old chain link, the doors to homes and buildings long forgotten—everything. 

Han’s not patching him up if he cuts himself. 

Probably. 

“Where do you come from?” 

It’s the first question out of Kylo since the raiders almost got them, and Han blinks in surprise, before scowling. 

“None of your business,” he snaps, then winces as Kylo trains wide, puppy-dog eyes on him. “I mean, it doesn’t matter, ok, kid?”

“Kylo,” Kylo sniffs. “Don’t call me kid, Han.”

Yikes.

“Ok, kiddo,” Han agrees, a smirk playing across his lips. Kylo’s eyes narrow and he quickly reaches up and pinches Han’s lower arm, _hard._

 _“Ouch!”_ Han jerks away and glares at the little shit. “Where the hell’d you learn that?”

“Poe,” Kylo grins up at him. “Mommy got so mad at him.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” Han mutters, and sighs. “I know! A swear!”

The offended look on Kylo’s face dies down a little, and he looks back around their surroundings. 

“I’m hungry,” he announces, and Han knew it. “How do you get food?”

“I steal it,” Han shrugs. The kid better know the truth. “How do you guys get food?”

“We used to steal it,” Kylo says. “But now we grow it.”

“You—grow your own food?” Han asks, somewhat disbelieving. “Like, in the ground? In the toxic dirt?”

“What’s toxic?” Kylo asks. “Yeah, in the ground. Can food grow another way?”

“Ok, smarta—” Han begins, before abruptly stopping himself. “Toxic means poisonous.”

“What does poisonous mean?”

“Oh, for the love of—it means it can kill you!” Han groans, and Kylo looks unimpressed.

“Dirt can kill you?” he asks. “Since when can dirt kill you? We’re walking on dirt.”

“We’re walking on cracked concrete,” Han corrects. “And dirt is only poisonous to plants. Which is why I asked how you grow them.”

“You mean dirt makes plants die?” Kylo asks, wrinkling his nose. “Our plants never die. Maybe they’re magic.”

 _There’s no such thing as magic,_ Han wants to say, but somehow he manages to refrain. 

Kylo lets go of Han’s jacket and grabs his hand again.

“I’m hungry,” he repeats. “Where can we steal food?”

 _“I’m_ stealing food,” Han corrects emphatically. _“You’re_ going to stay put where I leave you and wait for me.”

“I want to help steal!” Kylo objects, and Han winces. 

“Never say that phrase again,” Han requests, pained, and Kylo wrinkles his nose.

“I’m not a baby,” Kylo reminds Han. “I can help, too.”

“Well, you’re not going to,” Han snaps, gruff. “So you can put up or shut up. I recommend listening if you’re interested in eating.”

“Yes, sir,” Kylo chirps, before leaning over and biting Han’s wrist. Hard. 

_“Ow_ , you little _motherfucker!”_ Han swears, pulling back and glaring down at the little demon. 

“Swear,” Kylo says, eyes narrowed. “And that’s for being a jerk. I decided to start biting people who are mean to me. Then they’ll stop.”

“You’re a sadist,” Han snaps, and Kylo cocks his head.

“What’s a sadist?” he asks innocently, and Han seethes a minute.

“You’re going to have an interest in leather when you’re a grown up,” Han says finally, and Kylo furrows his brow. 

“Seems uncomfortable,” he decides. “And I’m still hungry.”

“You’re annoying is what you are,” Han sighs. “Next store we see will be our dinner destination.”

“I hope there’s beans,” Kylo says, and Han sighs.

—

The next store they see is a Quik-Save Mart, and Han is willing to bet it’s picked over. He shades his eyes against the brutal sun (since the Imperial War, the sun seems more brutal than before. Maybe it’s the lack of sunglasses Han used to wear) and looks carefully around for a place to stash his unwilling seven-year-old companion. 

“I don’t want to wait behind!” Kylo’s whine is impressive as hell, not that Han will be releasing that information even under the threat of death. Han holds his breath and counts to ten, something he’s had to do increasingly often. 

“Kylo,” he tries to be patient, he really does, but it comes out exasperated. He can’t help it. “Buddy. Listen.”

“No,” Kylo pouts, and Han is not a saint. He reaches out and finally pinches Kylo back, hard. Kylo’s jaw drops.

“Listen,” Han repeats, voice sharp. “This is _dangerous,_ what I’m about to do. It’s not because you’re young. It’s because it’s too dangerous to risk more lives than one.”

Kylo’s lip trembles, but Han can ignore it. 

“Fine,” Kylo finally says shakily. “Get beans.”

“If they have any,” Han amends, and steers him towards the crumbling house next to the Quik-Save Mart. “I’m gonna leave you in here. Hide, and don’t come out until I say “mommy’s here”, ok?”

“‘Mommy’s here’?” Kylo asks, and Han nods. 

“It’s like a code word,” he explains. “A secret password. Just in case.”

“Ok,” Kylo agrees, wrinkling his nose. “I’d still rather go.”

“I know, kid,” Han groans, opening the door to the house in trepidation. 

He sticks his head inside. The place is an absolute trash heap, empty cans littering the floor, windows smashed in, ceiling collapsing. It looks like any other abandoned house all over Endor, which is good.

It doesn’t look like anyone’s squatting. 

Han does a cursory look around anyway, just in case, and finds the place deserted. 

Perfect. 

He opens a closet and gestures.

“In," he orders, and Kylo wrinkles his nose again, but complies. He turns to face Han once he’s settled in on the floor. 

“‘Mommy’s home’?” he asks, and Han nods. 

“‘Mommy’s home’,” he confirms. “If there’s a fire—”

“Run,” Kylo finishes. “I’ll be here.”

“Good boy,” Han whispers, and shuts the door. 

He ignores the clench in his stomach as he backtracks out of the house, towards the front door, and curls his fingers around the knife tucked in his belt. 

He’s giving himself fifteen minutes at most.

His backpack is empty. He intends to fill it.

Casting wary glances around him in the waning sunlight, he crosses the street towards the store, apprehension growing wild in his stomach like every single time he makes one of these runs. It’s worse now, due entirely to the seven-year-old waiting in a dark closet, trusting him with his whole life. 

Han’s never had that kind of responsibility before. 

He quietly pulls the glass door to the Quik-Mart open, slipping inside nearly silently, eyes scanning his surroundings. 

He was right. The place is basically empty. 

He makes his way down the destroyed aisles, looking for a door, any door, that may lead to a back room. He doesn’t necessarily think it’ll have much more, but. You never know. 

Stealing food now feels no different than stealing and smuggling before the Imperial War. Back then, all he cared about was his next fat paycheck, and not much more. Now, all he cares about is his next meal, and not much more.

Somehow, the child became part of that “not much more”, and Han’s still not sure what to make of that. 

He finds the door to the storeroom already ajar and his heart sinks.

There goes the proverbial last hope. He’s sure there’s nothing left here for them. 

He pushes the door all the way open anyway, mind stuck on Kylo. 

The state of the backroom is atrocious. Shelves are knocked over on top of one another, glass jars are smashed on the ground, leaves and broken pieces of glass and plastic echo each footstep with a solid _crunch._

Han sighs, and sets to work. 

There’s a couple cans of beans, badly dented, and a label-less can which Han picks up as an afterthought. Endless empty cans greet him, and one plastic tub of frosting. 

He’s going to regret that one later, but he picks it up anyway. Kylo will probably like it. 

The main store is actually marginally better than the backroom. Han finds two _(two!)_ cans of Spaghetti-Ohs, soup, and olives that he takes because _fuck it,_ he likes olives. 

He snags a half-empty ripped box of Band-Aids, and what might be the last bottle of water left on Earth before he decides he’s been gone too long. 

Night is falling.

Han’s unease grows. 

He sets out across the street, making a beeline for the house he left Kylo in, but stops abruptly as the light of a flashlight through the broken front window grabs his attention.

“Shit,” he whispers, and Kylo’s voice echoes back _swear!_ “Shit, shit. _shit!”_

He’s got to get to Kylo, he has to. He cannot leave the kid, he really can’t. 

He sucks in a quick breath and crouches down, crossing the street rapidly, eyes locked on the front window. 

He’s not sure what he’s going to do yet, but he usually makes it up as he goes along. It hasn’t gotten him killed yet, and true, now he has another person to worry about, but Han doesn’t have time for plans right now. He only has time for action. 

Leia used to hate him for that.

He can’t fucking think about _Leia_ right now, Christ. 

“Check the upstairs,” a voice carries from inside the house, and Han steadies his breathing. They don’t seem to have found Kylo yet. The kid is probably terrified, but thankfully silent. 

“You need to come with me, I hear something,” is the returning response, in a hiss. The first speaker sighs and footsteps lead to the back of the house. 

Han seizes his chance. He slips through the open front door—were these guys _amateurs?_ — and as quietly as possible makes his way to the closet he left Kylo in. 

Footsteps sound above him, and he winces.

“Mommy’s home,” he whispers as loud as he dares, before pulling the door open and coming face to face with a fucking _knife._

“Fuck, Kylo,” Han hisses. “Put that away, let’s go, come on—”

“I hear something!” is all the warning Kylo can utter before footsteps sound on the stairs. 

Abandoning all pretense, Han scoops Kylo up in his arms and makes a beeline for the door, praying to whatever the fuck exists that they’ll make it out, they’ll make it out, they’ll—

They do. 

In Han’s next breath, they’re out of the front door and running into the enveloping darkness, feet pounding the cracked pavement like their lives depend on it. 

Han tightens his grip on Kylo, not daring to stop just yet. 

What if they had opened the closet?

“Han, they’re gone,” Kylo tugs on Han’s ear. “You can stop, it’s okay.”

Han slows, casting a glance behind him to make sure. He careens into an overgrown front yard before carefully setting Kylo down and looking him over for injuries. 

“I’m ok, Han,” Kylo says, voice bright. “You came back for me.”

“Fuck—yes, of course I came back,” Han sighs. “I should have just brought you with me, you were right.”

“I thought they would find me,” Kylo says, voice wavering. His dark eyes are huge, his bottom lip trembling. “I heard them come in and almost opened the door before I remembered to wait. I kept listening for you to say the magic words, but they didn’t come. And suddenly there were two of them, and I knew it wasn’t you, and I didn’t know what to do, and—”

“Never again,” Han says fiercely, gripping Kylo’s shaking shoulders. “Never fucking again, Kylo, I am never leaving you anywhere again. I fucking _promise.”_

Kylo takes a shuddering breath before meeting Han’s eyes. 

“You said the f-swear,” he whispers, and Han barks out a hysterical laugh.

“You got me,” he murmurs back, and Kylo throws his arms around Han. 

—  
It isn’t until that evening, settled on the front yard of a different abandoned house, that Han remembers the knife.

“Kylo,” he begins sternly. “Kid, where did you get a knife?”

“Found it,” Kylo says back, clearly going for innocent but failing miserably. “I got scared while you were gone and snuck into the kitchen. It was in a cabinet. Nothing else was in there, though.”

“You _left_ the closet?” Han demands, groaning. “After everything I said—”

“I just wanted to protect myself!” Kylo whines. “Nothing happened. I went back to the closet!”

Han inhales deep and counts to ten. 

“Kylo,” he says slowly. “Please never do that again.”

“What if I promise to not tell you next time?” Kylo asks, and Han grits his teeth.

“Don’t. Do. It. Again,” he says slowly, and Kylo sighs.

“Ok,” he mumbles, resigned, and, against his better judgment, Han pulls him close. 

Kylo settles against his chest and cranes his head up, at the cloudless night sky. The moon is a sliver, shining weakly down at the wasteland that Earth has become, and the stars twinkle millions of miles away.

“Han,” Kylo says softly. “Does the sky look the same now as it did before the war?”

Han frowns.

“Yes,” he answers slowly. “The war didn’t happen in space.”

Kylo wrinkles his nose. 

“I mean,” he begins. “Can you look up at the sky and pretend things are like they were before? I can’t.”

“That’s because you were, what, one? When the war started?” Han says. “But me? I was already twenty-five. Sure. Sometimes I’d like to look up and forget.”

“What was it like?” Kylo asks, before adding. “Before, I mean.”

“The world?” Han snorts. “Kid, it was way different.”

 _“Duh,”_ Kylo is rolling his eyes, Han can tell. “I mean, tell me about it.”

Han pauses, considering. Should he tell the kid the truth? Should he say where he was for years before the war even started? Should he tell him his memory of his mom’s cooking and his dad’s car were foggy, clouded by prison fights and a six-by-six cell?

“Well,” Han starts, haltingly. “There were more people. Seven trillion people, actually.”

“Seven _what?”_ Kylo demands, disbelieving. “The world can’t hold that many.”

“Well, it was a problem,” Han agrees. “Too many people. That’s why the governments put birth limits on people, and that’s why they were talking about a—a solution.”

“The nuclearlar solution,” Kylo says importantly. Han snorts.

“Nuclear,” he corrects, before continuing. “But yes. But people, obviously, disagreed with that. So some people said yes and some people said no, and the people that said no rebelled, and—here we are. The nuclear solution worked, maybe too well.”

“I know all _that,”_ Kylo says. “Mommy didn’t want to tell me about it, but Finn did anyway. Well, he didn’t tell it _right,_ so Poe told me instead, but Mommy found out and didn’t like the words he used—anyway. Mommy finally told me. I mean, before all that happened—what was it _like?”_

“Kid, I don’t remember,” Han sighs, and before he can think better of it, his mouth takes off. “By the time the war started, I’d been in jail for a long time. Four years. That’s….that’s pretty much all I knew.”

“Jail?” Kylo asks softly, a little fearful sounding. If Han looked down, he’s sure Kylo’s brown eyes would be huge, locked on Han. “What’s that?”

Oh. Right.

“Uh, shit,” he sighs. “Swear, I know. It’s….when people do things that weren’t right, they went to jail.”

“Bad things?” Kylo whispers. Han swallows. 

“Yeah,” he replies, ducking his head. “Sometimes, very bad things.”

“You did bad things?” Kylo asks, voice cracking. Han’s heart twinges. “What kind of bad things?”

“I stole things that didn’t belong to me,” Han sighs. “That’s a bad thing.”

“Did you,” Kylo starts. “Did you ever hurt anybody?”

Han grits his teeth, thinking of the officer he shot, lying motionless on the gallery floor, as sirens flooded the street outside. 

“I hurt one person,” he manages, handing the truth carefully to this seven year old kid. Why is he doing this? “I didn’t mean to.”

“I thought you weren’t a bad man,” Kylo whispers, sniffing. 

Han feels those words like a knife to the chest. His heart honest to _God_ feels like it’s breaking, shattering on the cold ground below them. 

“I’m not,” he says helplessly, swallowing hard. “I’m not a bad man. That—that was a long time ago. I didn’t mean to do those things.”

“It was an accident?” Kylo sounds hopeful, and Han’s already-broken heart twists a little. 

“Hurting that person was an accident,” he says, glossing over the theft. “I would never do it again.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me, right?” Kylo sniffs, and Han hugs him close, as tight as he dares. 

“No,” he says softly. “No, I would never hurt you, Kylo.”

Kylo buries his face into Han’s chest and stays there for a moment. Han can’t tell if the kid is crying or what, but he lets him, purely relieved that Kylo hasn’t hopped up and run away from him after finding out about—the bad things. 

“Han?” Kylo asks, finally looking up and frowning. 

“Yeah?”

“Is the bad things why you say so many swears?” Kylo demands, and Han barks out a laugh, sudden and slightly hysterical. 

“Probably, kid,” he agrees. “Sorry. I’ll try to stop.”

“I’ll remind you,” Kylo threatens, and breaks into a shy smile, before settling back against Han’s chest. 

“I know you will,” Han laughs, and Kylo pinches him.

“Quiet,” he orders. “I’m looking for Mommy’s star.”

“Mommy’s star?” Han asks, brow wrinkling. 

“Yeah,” Kylo says slowly, like Han is dumb. “Mommy said if I ever got lost to follow this star and I would be home.”

“Stars move, though,” Han points out. His knowledge (and interest) in astronomy is limited, but his sixth-grade science class is telling him stars never stay in the same place. 

Kylo shoots him a dirty look.

“Not _this_ one,” he says proudly. “Mommy’s star always stays in the same place. Look!”

Kylo points up, and Han follows his outstretched arm past his dirt-smeared finger to the star in question, bright against the dark backdrop of night, shining just above the horizon.

“Oh,” Han murmurs, understanding. “Polaris.”

“Polarist?” Kylo asks, frowning, enunciating the imagined ’t’. “What’s polarist?”

“Polaris,” Han corrects. “The North Star. You’re right, that one doesn’t move.”

“Mommy’s star has a different name?” Kylo sounds doubtful. “If you say so. I’m calling it Mommy’s star, though.”

“Call it what you want,” Han says, distracted, gazing up at the star and thinking hard. 

Kylo’s mother told him to follow the star and he’d be home, but what if they’re now off-center of where home is? Is going North worth it, regardless?

“Hello?” Kylo calls, waving his hand in front of Han’s face. “Are you home?”

“Sorry, I was thinking,” Han says, blinking. “What?”

“Are we gonna follow it?” Kylo asks, like the answer is obvious. “To get home?”

Han sighs. Part of him is screaming that this is a really fucking stupid idea, and the other half of him is pointing out that this is the first real lead they’ve had in a while, and it would be dumb to toss it away. 

“I promised I would get you home, didn’t I?” Han says roughly. “So we follow the star.” 

Kylo breaks into a wide smile, jumping up and down a little where he sits. 

“Mommy said it would take me home,” Kylo repeats, gazing up at the star with undisguised hope. “I can’t wait to be home.”

“I know, kid,” Han whispers, hugging him. “I know.”

“Han?” Kylo asks, still looking up at the star. 

“Yeah, kid?” Han replies. Kylo drags his gaze down and meets Han’s eyes. 

“I know you did bad things,” he whispers, grabbing Han’s hand. “And I know you hurt somebody. But I still love you. Ok?”

Han chokes. 

“Ok,” he breathes, and quickly kisses Kylo’s forehead. “Ok.”

—-

Han is startled awake sometime in the early hours of the morning by Kylo’s insistent nudging of his shoulder. He huffs out a sigh and comes face to face with wide, terrified eyes, Kylo’s lip trapped between his teeth hard enough, it looks like, to hurt. 

“What,” Han groans, or tries to. The minute his mouth opens, Kylo clamps his hand over it and shakes his head rapidly. 

Han frowns. 

Kylo looks behind him and quickly looks back at him, pleading for help that he can’t verbally express. 

Han sits up, carefully moving Kylo to the side, and stares into the blackness of the room. He stares, listening hard, until he hears it. 

Voices. 

“There’s a kid in here,” says one person, who’s outline Han can barely make out in the window. “You think it’s _the_ kid?”

“Not sure,” is the response. “Too dark. He’s with a man, I don’t want to wake him up, and I’m sure the kid would.”

“Let’s check the back,” the first person says. “The front is covered. Maybe we’ll get a better look.”

The shape moves away, and Han lets out a slow breath. He quickly scoops Kylo up with one hand and his backpack up with the other and moves as fast as he possibly can while keeping silent to the stairs.

He takes them two at a time, managing to round the corner out of sight just as the figures press up against the back window he and Kylo had been sleeping next to.

Han doesn’t stick around for them. He finishes climbing the stairs and heads down the upstairs hall, poking into each room to find the best window. 

“This’ll do,” Han mutters. He sets Kylo down and slides the backpack onto him before turning. 

Kylo needs no further instruction, climbs on as soon as Han stills. Crossing the room to the window, Han winces as the front door is kicked open and loud voices carry up the stairs. 

He slides the window open and quickly clambers out, breathing a sigh of relief once he realizes the slant of the roof protects them from the view of the two watchdogs outside. He slides the window shut again and climbs up, to the top of the roof.

“Come on,” he breathes, looking around. They needed to stay low, stay behind something that would shield them even in the darkness. Han eyes the chimney. 

He needs no encouragement from whoever broke in, but a loud shout from the first floor doesn’t hurt. He crouches down, grip tight on Kylo’s calves, and speed-walks toward the chimney. 

He pulls Kylo off his back and holds him against his front, instead, backing up to the chimney and sliding down to sit. He holds Kylo close and breathes deeply, imagining what could have happened if Kylo hadn’t woken up. 

He gives Kylo a squeeze and the kid squeezes back. He’s trembling a little, and Han remembers with a jolt the comment of “ _the_ kid.”

“Kylo,” he whispers, as soft as he can. “Do you know these people?”

Kylo nods, a little jerk of his head. 

“It’s the bad man,” Kylo replies, lips barely moving. “He found me.”

“How,” Han whispers, meaning the question to be rhetorical. To his utter surprise, Kylo actually answers. 

“Mommy says,” Kylo’s voice cracks a little. “That I always have to hide from the bad man. That the bad man will always find me.”

Han doesn’t feel like questioning that, doesn’t have time to, anyway, and just goes with it. 

“Can he find us on the roof?” Han asks, casting a wary glance in the direction they had climbed.

Kylo shrugs helplessly. 

“I don’t know,” he answers tearfully. “I’m trying like Uncle Luke taught me. I don’t know if it’ll work.”

“It will,” Han whispers fiercely, hugging Kylo close. He has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about, has no clue what Kylo means, but whatever it is, Kylo needs to believe it’ll be ok. “It has to work, I believe in you.”

“I’m trying,” Kylo says, voice almost inaudible. 

“Where the hell did they go?” a snarling new voice echoes down the street. Han winces and pulls Kylo closer. “You _confirmed_ to me that there were two people in this house, did you not? Did you _lie?”_

“No, no, sir!” someone begs. “Leader Snoke, sir, there were people in here! They didn’t leave, I don’t know where they went!”

“Shall we light it on fire, see if they come running?” a female asks cooly. Han sucks in a deep breath and goes tense, hoping, pleading—

“No,” the man (Snoke, Han guesses) says tersely. “No harm can come to the boy. I need him. Search the surrounding woods. If they’re not in the house, they must still be nearby.”

“Keep trying,” Han whispers to Kylo, who nods desperately. 

“Excuse me,” a second female voice breaks in, her accent soft and lilting, her tone making it clear she will not be messed with. “I have to wonder, _Leader Snoke,_ just _what_ you think you are doing on my property.”

“Hello, Phasma,” Snoke snarls, tone vicious and Kylo gives a soft whine. “I am pursuing an escapee. I’ll be gone shortly.”

“Be that as it may,” Phasma growls. “You did not seek permission to search on our territory.”

“May I search on your territory,” Snoke spits, and Han can practically hear the sneer. 

“No,” Phasma snaps. “And I hear talk about _burning_ one of my buildings down? My property? You may get away with this shit elsewhere, but you know full well we outnumber you two-to-one, so I suggest you get moving, _Leader.”_

“I need my prisoner back,” Snoke argues. “He is in this building. Please, let me secure him and we will be on our way.”

“Seems to me you’ve lost him,” Phasma taunts. “I’ll look for you. Since you’ve _misplaced_ him, and all.”

“Your graciousness is much appreciated,” Snoke grits out, and Phasma snorts. 

“Order your little hounds out so I may search in peace,” she snaps, and Snoke sighs.

“You heard Miss Phasma,” he calls out, voice dripping with malice. “Clear out.”

 _Don’t come up here, don’t come up here_ Han begs in his head. He’s sure his grip has gone white knuckled on Kylo, but the kid isn’t complaining, to busy doing what his uncle taught him. 

Whatever that is. 

Without warning, Han hears the window slide open. He tenses, and Kylo tenses with him. He scrambles to get his feet under him just as what must be Phasma comes into view. 

Her short blonde hair is tousled, her blue eyes sharp. She has on what appears to be actual armor, and a gun is casually gripped in one hand. 

She takes one look at Han, wide eyed and pleading, and opens her mouth until her gaze travels to Kylo, clutched in Han’s arms. 

She shuts her mouth. 

“Leave the boy and surrender to Snoke,” she hisses. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Snoke is after _him_ , not me!” Han pleads desperately. “He wants him, he can’t have him. Please. Believe me.”

“It’s true,” Kylo’s voice is muffled from Han’s jacket, but Phasma hears, and her expression visibly softens. 

“Wait. Here,” she orders, and slips back down the roof. 

Han exhales so hard he’s dizzy for a moment, and Kylo buries his face in Han’s neck. 

“You’ve clearly lost your….captives,” Phasma says dismissively. “They’re not in there. Might as well give up.”

“They have to be in there,” Snoke snaps. “Where else would they be?”

“If you’ve lost them before, they’re obviously wise to your tricks,” Phasma snorts. “Better luck next time. Off my territory. My men will escort you.”

“If you hide them—” Snoke begins, and an audible gasp echoes from the onlookers.

“Are you daring to suggest what I do on my own territory?” Phasma spits. “As you trespass? Do you _dare?”_

“I apologize,” Snoke says, sounding nowhere near apologetic. “Forgive me, I did not think before speaking. We’ll go. Come!”

Dead silence follows Snoke’s exit. Han waits, breath bated, for what feels like forever until Phasma’s voice echoes up at him.

“Come down,” she says simply, and Han obeys. 

—

“Snoke kidnapped you,” Phasma muses. “And this man rescued you from Snoke. Impressive.”

‘Rescued’ seems to Han to be a bit of a strong word, but he lets it slide. 

“I’m trying to get him home,” Han explains. “To his mother.”

“And where is she?” Phasma asks. 

“In the forest,” Kylo pipes up. Phasma _hmms._

“There are several forests,” she points out. “You have to be be more specific.”

“What’s that?” Kylo asks, and Han huffs a laugh. 

“You have to be more clear,” Phasma clarifies gently. Kylo frowns. 

“It’s in the north,” Han says. “Kylo says his mom told him to follow the North Star if he’s ever lost.”

“A northern forest,” Phasma muses. “Child, why did Snoke take you?”

Kylo looks over at Han uncertainly. 

Han nods, hoping his expression is comforting. 

They don’t have a lot of choice but to tell their stories, anyway.

“My uncle Luke says I’m special,” Kylo says haltingly. “Like him.”

“In what way?” Phasma asks, resting her chin on her palm. 

“Um,” Kylo says, swallowing and glancing towards Han again. “I can do things, sometimes. Make things move. Mommy says that’s why Snoke wants me. He tried to taked me away before.”

“Hmm,” Phasma clearly is mulling this over. 

“Is that why,” Han begins, before he can think better of it. “Is that why, when Snoke set the camp on fire, you didn’t get hurt?”

“Snoke left you in a fire?” Phasma demands, eyes wide, and Kylo nods. 

“Um, yeah,” he whispers. “I kind of…asked the fire to go away, and it stayed away from me. It was really hard to breathe, so I asked it to keep staying away from me, and then I fell asleep. When I waked up, Han was there.”

“Snoke tried to burn you to death,” Phasma says flatly, and the surrounding members of her…gang, Han supposes, exclaim amongst themselves before Phasma silences them with a hand in the air. 

“Guess what, Kylo?” Phasma asks. “You have a whole new group helping you and Han out now, what do you think about that?”

Kylo gives her a small smile. 

“You’re gonna help find my mommy?” he asks, voice wavering, and Phasma nods firmly. 

“You bet your ass,” she says, reaching out her hand.

Kylo tentatively shakes it. 

“Swear,” he whispers, and Phasma’s eyebrow shoots up. 

“He does that,” Han snorts, and Kylo giggles. 

Phasma gives Kylo a look Han can only describe as ‘fond’ before speaking again. 

“First things first,” she says. “What’s your mommy’s name?”

“Mommy,” Kylo answers.

“Great,” Han says cheerfully. “What’s your last name, kid?”

“Organa,” Kylo says, and stifles a yawn. “Kylo Ben Organa.”

Phasma stares at Kylo.

“Organa?” she asks quietly, like she can’t quite believe it. “Really?”

“Yes,” Kylo yawns again. “But my uncle and grandma and grandpa are called Skywalker. Not Organa.”

“Kylo Organa,” Phasma says slowly, like she trying a new flavor. “Huh.”

Kylo yawns wide and rubs his eyes. 

Han makes eye contact with Phasma, who nods. 

“Ok, Kylo Organa,” Han says softly, holding his arms out. “You need to sleep.”

“Not tired,” Kylo argues through a yawn. Han rolls his eyes. 

“Sure,” he snorts. “Come on.”

“I have a spare sleeping bag,” Phasma tells Han. “This way.”

Han scoops up a half-whiny Kylo and follows the tall blonde, weaving through the campsite until ducking into a tent. 

“You can sleep here, Kylo,” Phasma says. “We’ll be right outside. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Promise?” Kylo asks, but he’s looking up at Han.

“Promise,” Han affirms, hoping to whatever is out there that he can make good on this promise. Before he can think better of it, he ducks down and drops a kiss on Kylo’s head, tugging the ripped sleeping bag up over his shoulder before turning and following Phasma out. 

“I assume you don’t know the Organa gang,” Phasma says bluntly. “So you’re in luck, because I do. I know the boy’s mother, though this is the first time I’ve met the boy. She keeps him under pretty tight wraps.”

“I guess it’s because of those things he can do,” Han sighs, and Phasma shrugs one armor clad shoulder. 

“For whatever reason, you’ve just gained favor with her,” she smirks. “The second he sees his mother, and tells her you _saved_ him—instant protection. Don’t waste it.”

“Waste it?” Han asks, confused. Phasma arches one eyebrow. 

“I know your type,” she says airily. “Loner. No people. No baggage. Am I wrong?”

Han stays silent, knowing full well it would be taken as assent. 

“Despite all this, I implore you,” Phasma says. “When the Organa gang offer shelter, it’s something anyone would give their hands for. Don’t waste it. Take it. Drop the loner act—you’re attached to the kid, anyway.”

Han still says nothing—but, to his credit, he says nothing fairly loudly. 

“Get some rest,” Phasma orders. “We move out at first light.”

—

“And then, Uncle Luke, he told me about how before everything went _boom,_ he could do the same stuff as me!”

Kylo swings his legs from where he’s perched on Han’s shoulders, and Han shoots him a look. 

“Sorry,” Kylo says, not sounding sorry at all. “And Mommy told him to stop scaring me, but it didn’t _really_ scare me. Only a little.”

“Your mother is a smart woman,” Phasma says, indulgent. “I bet you’re gonna be just as smart.”

“I don’t know,” Kyo says doubtfully. “She’s the smartest person in the whole world.”

Han grins against his will. 

“So that’s your Uncle Luke,” he says. “What about the rest of your family? I gotta make a good impression.”

“You’ll make a _perfect_ impressioneds,” Kylo exclaims, throwing his arms into the air. “You saved me! Mommy will _love_ you. And Miss Phasma too.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘Miss’, Kylo,” Phasma reminds him, eyes straight ahead of her, scanning the horizon. 

“Sorry,” Kylo says again. “How far are we?”

“A few more hours,” Phasma answers. “Tell us about your grandparents. You’re the only person I know with grandparents still alive.”

“Really?” Han is sure Kylo’s eyes are huge. “Wow.”

“Really,” Han confirms, though Kylo doesn’t need to know his own grandparents have long been dead, since before he even went to jail.

“Grandpa Anakin is a jerk,” Kylo giggles. “That’s what Mommy and Grandma Padme call him. He just jokes a lot. I think he’s funny. Grandma Padme is pretty, and always lets me cuddle, even when Mommy is busy.”

“Who’s Ben Kenobi?” Han asks, suddenly remembering the scrawled name on the sweatshirt Kylo wears.

“My other uncle,” Kylo answers. “This is his sweatshirt. He’s Grandpa Anakin’s best friend.”

Han almost laughs at the entire concept, but manages to stop himself. He can’t imagine the magnitude of insulted puppy dog eyes Kylo would send his way if he were to do so. 

“Quiet,” Phasma says suddenly, throwing up an arm. With a jolt, Han realizes figures have materialized ahead of them, on the other side of the forest’s clearing. Han stops with the rest of Phasma’s escort team, and squeezes Kylo’s leg.

“Slide down and get on my back,” Han whispers, and feels Kylo begin to obey. He breathes a sigh of relief once Kylo is settled firmly out of sight and squeezes Kylo’s leg again.

“What’s happening?” Kylo whispers, mouth pressed to Han’s ear. He ignores the spit. 

“There are people ahead of us,” Han whispers back. “Stay still.”

“Ok,” Kylo mumbles. “Is it Mommy?”

“I don’t think so,” Han replies. “Hold on.”

“Is it Snoke?” one of Phasma’s men hiss urgently, and Han feels Kylo go tense. 

“Not sure,” Phasma grits out. “Get ready, though.”

Han hears guns cock and swallows.

“Han?” Kylo’s voice is no more than a breathy whisper. “Can I say a swear now?”

Han huffs a laugh, but is immediately interrupted. 

“You’re Phasma, are you not?” the woman shouting across the clearing sounds like she already knows, and Han tightens his hold on Kylo.

“Depends who’s asking,” Phasma replies, voice echoing in the otherwise silent forest.

“I’m asking,” the woman says dryly. “Heard you had a run-in with Snoke yesterday. True?”

“Bury your face in my neck,” Han hisses, and Kylo complies. 

“I guess word travels fast,” Phasma’s voice is humorless. “Again, who wants to know?”

“Well, any quarrel with Snoke is a quarrel we share,” the woman announces, gesturing to the people around her. “May I ask what you’re doing in this part of the forest? A bit far from your territory. Aren’t you in the city? Or what’s left of it?”

“I’ll answer all the questions in the world once you’ve identified yourself,” Phasma says firmly. “Or at least what gang you come from.”

“Bit brave for a Stormtrooper,” a man next to the woman snorts, and she shoots him a glare. 

Phasma brings herself to her full height.  

“I’m the Captain of the Stormtroopers, actually,” she says cooly. “Your turn.”

“Me? I’m Rey,” the woman shouts, and Han frowns. 

Rey?  
   
Why does Rey sound familiar? 

“Rey?” Kylo whispers. “It’s Rey?”

“Shh, keep still!” Phasma hisses. Han pinches Kylo gently, reminding. 

“Who do you have with you, Phasma?” the man calls, tone mocking. “I mean, Captain of the Stormtroopers.”

“Either identify the gang you come from or allow us to leave,” Phasma snaps. “We’re running out of time for games.”

“They come from my gang,” a stone-cold voice sends chills down Han’s spine. He takes an intimidated half-step back as a woman sweeps out of the forest behind Rey and the rest of her group and stands, arms crossed, staring Phasma down. 

Han feels his stomach drop, drop with the rest of his useless broken heart, the heart that had not seen use in forever, until Kylo came along. It just _drops,_ even as his gaze swoops up, taking in every inch of the foreboding woman and _feeling_ the visceral recognition claim him to the bone. 

“Leia?” he asks, incredulously, just as Kylo excitedly interrupts him.

 _“Mommy!”_

His shriek echoes through the forest and he squirms insistently, until Han allows him to drop the the ground and run, pell-mell, towards Leia.

Leia.

_Leia._

Leia—it has to be Leia, she’s aged since they were eighteen and stupid and so in love it hurt, but it’s still her, her stubborn set to her jaw, her overwhelmingly kind eyes, her proud stature—everything that made her her is still there, and every inch of it is dropping to the ground, arms outstretched, for the ball of dark-haired energy racing towards her like his life depends on it. 

“Kylo?” she cries, voice cracking on a sob as she scoops the boy up. “Kylo, oh Kylo, it’s you, it’s really you!”

“Mommy!” Kylo cries, clinging to her tighter than Han had ever seen. “Mommy!”

“You had my son,” Leia hisses, eyes glinting. “Why did you have my _son?”_

“Mommy, they saved me!” Kylo wails. “Mommy, the bad man had me and I got _saved!”_

“You—you saved my son from Snoke?” Leia demands, looking frantically up at Phasma. _“You?_ Captain of the Stormtroopers?”

“Only the second time,” Phasma corrects gently. “The first time, and all the time since then, Kylo’s been protected by this man.”

Leia’s gaze snaps from Phasma to Han, and Han feels honestly in that moment that he cannot breathe. 

“Leia?” he croaks out. “It is you, isn’t it.”

“Who are you?” Leia demands. “Step into the light, let me see who saved my son.”

“Kylo?” a shout from behind Leia’s group distracts him momentarily, and he swallows. 

“Luke!” Leia shouts. “Luke, it’s Kylo!”

A man pushes his way to the front and pulls Kylo from Leia’s arms immediately, cradling him as close as he possibly can. 

“Kylo,” he breathes, and Han recognizes him, too, recognizes him as Leia’s twin brother, who always gave them a hard time. 

Leia takes a step forward. 

“Come into the light,” she pleads. “Come into the light so I may thank you.”

Han takes a deep breath, and does. 

He feels it, like an instinct, when Leia recognizes him. 

She’s speechless, a hand covering her mouth, and Han feels equally unable to balance this with reality. 

“Mommy, that’s Han,” Kylo says, grabbing her shirtsleeve. “Han saved me.”

“Han?” Leia manages to say. “Han? It’s really you?”

“Han? Han Solo?” Luke demands, whirling to face Han. “You’re alive?”

“It’s me,” Han manages, and Leia chokes on a sob. 

“The last time I saw you,” she breathes. “You were on a bus, heading to maximum security.”

Han ducks his head. 

“You’re _here,”_ Leia chokes out. “And you saved Kylo, and you didn’t even know he was mine, did you?”

“No,” Han confirms. “No clue.”

 _“Han,”_ Leia whispers. “Thank you for saving my son.”

—

They accept the offer to stay the night with Leia’s gang, and Han walks in a weird sort of half-existence to their campsite. He can’t stop staring at Leia, can’t stop the juxtaposition of her now with her ten years ago, and he can barely cope with the sudden influx of feelings he was sure he had buried with his past. 

Kylo had been earnestly chatting the entire way and Han clued in only when he reached from his mother’s arms—his mother, caught in the same dreamlike state as Han, looking from Han, to Kylo, to Han, over and over—and grabbed Han’s hand. 

“You can stay with us,” Kylo says earnestly. “Right, Mommy? He doesn’t have anyone to protect him.”

“Now he does,” Leia breathes. “Han, please. Stay.”

Han’s mouth opens before his brain catches up.

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely, giving in to what his heart is screaming. “Yeah, yes, I’ll stay.”  
 Leia smiles, and it’s like the sun coming out. Han feels it, a gut reaction, his soul acknowledging how long it’s been since he’s seen her. 

Leia reaches out and grabs Han’s hand. 

“Yes,” she says simply, and Kylo is looking over at Han with wide eyes brimming with tears. “Stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me in my trash heap @ smalltalktorture.tumblr.com if ur interested


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